


Dream Stalker

by carnography (orphan_account)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/carnography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In prison, Tom Zarek had learned a few things about power dynamics. </p><p>(Season 4.5, Mutiny arc, Canon Divergence)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Stalker

The revolution was a resounding success. The holding cells and the hallowed halls of the battlestar were a mess, awash with sacrificial blood. But the ranks were cleansed. And he, of all people, knew that sometimes you had to get your hands dirty to get rid of the dirt.  
  
Sometimes, these sorts of atrocities were necessary. Blowing up buildings, sowing discontent--all for the greater good. Soon, because of his actions, this long hall of tyranny would come to an end.  
  
An end punctuated with the last survivor of the royal family. It ended with Laura Roslin.  
  
They found her in Adama's quarters. Tom Zarek wasn't surprised, but he was disgusted by the connotations. The government in bed with the military, whispers of totalitarian rule disguised as pillow talk. Adama deserved his execution. She deserved it too. But you couldn't exactly airlock an ailing political figure and not expect some sort of outcry from the people. So, he locked her away and promised her a trial. But she knew, just like he knew, that the promise was only ceremonial. In this trial, judge and jury would be one man. Him.  
  
 Though she didn't pose much of a threat, Zarek thought it fitting to hold in her in the cell formerly reserved for Cylon prisoners. Let her ponder the sins of her lover, who welcomed the enemy into his corrupted inner circle. Whose weaknesses would have led them to a certain grave, whose weaknesses slandered the billions dead and the thousands that suffered on New Caprica.  
  
As one of those thousands, Laura should have understood. She should have seen this coming. Smothered by Adama's affection and blinded by his bulk, she didn't foresee any of it. She'd lost her edge. Zarek watched her now from the observation booth. It was her second day in prison. She had barely moved since learning of...current events.   
  
She sat on the single cot, her arms wrapped about her knees. Her head held high. There was a serene defiance to her -- to her mannerisms, to her thinly veiled pride. He had always admired her sort of fiery calm, those embers that smoldered beneath her icy exterior. With the news of the Admiral's death and the deaths of those he treasured, Laura had reverted to that lethal, ice queen persona. That sharp, steely woman -- maintained only by her cold, cold heat.  
  
"Why do you keep coming here. Mr. Zarek?" she finally asked one day, as he sat on a chair and watched her. It was becoming aritual for him. Talking to the prisoner, taking her down notch by notch. Showing her the error of her ways. Of course, she never conceded to them. He told her what was being done, step by step. All her information came from him now, and Zarek reveled in this reversal of their relationship. Her sudden dependency. How suddenly he thrust her into the dark.  
  
At her question, Zarek just smiled his waxy salesman smile. "I have my reasons, Laura."  
  
She just swallowed, and lifted her chin. Throughout her capture, she never once removed her dark shroud of hair. She didn't change into the clothes they brought her. Laura just sat there, pale as Persephone, hugging her knees and flexing her bare toes. Unyielding in the face of a certain, violent descent. The way Tom figured, she was a close acquaintance of Death by now.  
  
"Are your reasons personal or professional?" Laura asked, "You can tell me that little bit, I'm sure. Sate my curiosity."  
  
Zarek chuckled, flashing her a condescending grin. "With you, Laura? I'm afraid it's always a little bit of both."  
  
"You know, Apollo was right," he continued, scooting to the edge of his chair. "We were a gang. Still are a gang. I know about gangs. I know how they work, how power is distributed. You maintain power in a gang--in a prison gang--by securing the utmost loyalty and the total submission of those who threaten your authority."  
  
Laura's eyes flashed, as she tilted her head--scrutinizing him.  
  
Zarek blinked. "You know I used to think that you were frakking Adama for that reason, and I admired it. You seduced him, turned him into a lovesick lapdog. He did your bidding. You gave him a treat. And through him, you gained the loyalty of the entire military." He motioned with his hands, "Securing your place of power. As long as they were loyal to Adama, they were loyal to you, right?  And no one -- no one -- threatens the one who holds all the cards and all the guns." He chuckled. "It's a genius strategy."  
  
Roslin's face remained perfectly impassive. "Go on."  
  
He grinned. "But you frakked it up. The both of you looked away from the people and to each other instead. A fatal mistake in that sort of business."  
  
Laura cracked a sly smile. "Have you arranged that sort of power exchange with _Admiral Gaeta_ , Mr. Zarek?"  
  
Tom laughed, looked to the steel-plated ground. "No. He's already docile enough."  
   
"What a shame." She cooed, tilting her head. Her voice was laced with pure sulfur--biting, cruel, and acidic. His smile stretched even wider.  
  
"Another thing I learned in prison, Laura, was that sometimes these arrangements can't be made. Two people fighting for the same dominance, the same respect. Somebody has to learn one way or another. Power has to be transacted by force."  
  
Her eyebrows twitched.  "Is that why you're here, Mr. Zarek? You're just waiting for the right moment to...stick it in me and show me who's boss?" Hearing her actually say it made his pants tighten ever so slightly. She smiled, mocking him with a pretty and jaded grin.  
  
"I've wanted to for a long time, Laura," he responded, voice lowering.  
  
"I know."  
  
She knew. She once flirted with him and teased him, taunted him with small gestures and shining eyes. A slow cross of those perfect, ivory legs...a momentary glimpse down her blouse. Did she know how embarrassing it was? To be so blatantly toyed with and then passed over for a man like Adama? Zarek knew she wanted him -- during those private conferences, sparse conversations. She wanted him buried inside of her as much as he did, even if she would never admit it openly. It wasn't her style, anyway.  
  
But, he'd get it out of her...one way or another.  
  
"So, are you going to get it over with? Or am I going to have to suffer through more of these visitations?" Roslin asked, releasing her legs and stretching them out on the cot. She reclined, resting on her elbows and daring him with a look. His eyes darted to her chest, to the white mounds that peeked above her black sweater--her breathing heavier than before. Zarek rose from the chair, and pushed it backward. The scrape of metal on metal was a frigid, authoritarian sound that he relished, the methodical beating of his dress shoes as he confidently strode to her bed and looked down on her with a smarmy smile. Zarek glimpsed at her pants.  
  
"Mr. Zarek..."  
  
"Take them off, Laura," he ordered with a solitary blink of his eyes, "And, _please_ , call me Tom."  
  
She looked into his eyes, and what he saw in her stare was as familiar as it was haunting. She didn't care. She didn't have anything to lose. None of this mattered to her. Not really. This obedience, this submission, meant nothing to her.  
  
But he was so close that he didn't care. He just wanted between those legs. He wanted those breasts in his hands.That mouth, those lips, that tongue, those teeth, everywhere and anywhere he could manage.  
  
Laura unbuttoned her slacks, waistband gaping open. She shoved the pants down her legs unceremoniously, flinging them to the floor. Zarek took in a shuddering breath as he stood there, eyes roaming her shapely legs. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his prick strained against his trousers.  
  
She hooked a thumb beneath her panties. "I'm assuming you want these gone too, Tom?"  
  
"Not yet," he near-growled. His cool persona was disintegrating from the heat of anticipation. He took a few steps. The tips of his fingers skimmed a smooth, warm leg as he moved to the head of the cot. Laura didn't resist when he snagged both her  hands and tugged them above her head. Zarek placed her fingers against the cool metal bar of the cot's frame.  
  
 "Hold onto it," he demanded. She obeyed, curling those small, white fingers around the headboard. "Don't let go."  
  
Tom dug into his pocket, retrieving two zip-ties, and promptly secured both of her hands to the headboard.  
  
"A little theatric," Roslin commented dryly.  
  
"We both have a flair for the dramatic, Laura." He tightened one tie, slipping it a notch past the tentative barrier between discomfort and pain. She hissed quietly, and he squeezed himself through his trousers--just to take the edge off. He wanted this to last. He needed this to last.  
  
Zarek circled the cot, gazed at her as she breathed. The mattress protested as he climbed between her legs, his hands groping those gorgeous legs, spreading them apart. His hands crept up her inner thighs, trembling ever so slightly--a small, involuntary betrayal. His fingers swept up over her hips, her stomach, over the gentle hills of her breasts. The pads of his fingers skirting along her cleavag. The soft, bare skin shot bolts of arousal straight to his groin. Her heavy breathing, her heaving chest, was driving him slowly but surely insane.  
  
"You were wearing this for him? Waiting until he got back?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He gave her tits a squeeze, molding them to his hands. He thought of them often, used to fantasize about sliding his throbbing dick between them and frakking her until he was spent. He thought about it during lonely, humid nights on New Caprica or trapped within the confines of a man-infested _Astral Queen_. His fingers traced the neckline, until his fingers pressed between the valley of her chest. Zarek gripped the black fabric with both hands and yanked, tearing the worn shirt down the middle, baring her slate-colored bra. So dark against her pale skin. He traced his finger around her delicate navel, and smirked.  
  
"It should've been me, Laura. I've always been your bigger threat." He said with a wolfish and over-confident grin. He moved his hands to those breasts of her's again, unclasped the bra, peeled both pieces aside as if he were opening a Saturnalia present. So pretty the packaging, so satisfying the gift. Zarek stared at her hungrily, "I bet he touched you as if you were made of glass."  
  
She wasn't glass, at least not the type of glass set into windows. Transparent and fragile and clean. She was pure obsidian--super-heated volcanic rock that's rapidly cooled. Grown cold, grown hard.  
  
But her skin was still hot.  
  
Zarek dragged his hands, those hands that glistened proudly with metaphoric blood, over her pebbled nipples. He groaned under his breath, leaning back on his haunches and dragging his touch down to her panties. His fingers slid experimentally along the fabric, down over her slit. And he felt-  
  
Zarek glimpsed up at her face, and smiled. She merely reclined and breathed, hands restrained over her head. She stared at him without an ounce of emotion--no humiliation, no regret, no answer.  
  
Her panties were damp.  
  
"Tell me you want me," he muttered, rubbing her with more force. He felt it. He wanted to hear it. He wanted her to know it.  
  
Laura was silent, aside from her rapid deep breathing. He wondered what the source of it was, her breathing--lust, fear, disgust, anger...maybe all of them at once. He peeled her underwear away from her sweet pussy, down a long leg. The worn piece of fabric dangled off one of her ankles. Here she was--naked Laura Roslin, spread out for him like a long-awaited feast.  
  
Zarek slid up her body, his politician clothes moving against her bare flesh. His tie pooled like a coiled snake between her breasts. There was still nothing in those sea-grey eyes--nothing she would let him see. He kissed her lips, and she didn't respond. He didn't think she would.  
  
"Kiss me," he said against her lips, "Like I'm him."  
  
He pulled her trigger, because when he bent to kiss her again--she kissed him back. Fervidly. Passionately. Her mouth admitting his hedonistic tongue, her teeth nibbling his bottom lip. There was a low, hot whimper he felt from the back of her throat. His hand moved to her face, splayed across her cheek as he kissed her, kissed her like he always wanted to kiss her.  
  
Zarek rubbed up against her, humped her as if he were a barely controlled animal. He was so hard it was beginning to hurt -- but part of him liked it, liked that he could savor the excruciating slow build.  
  
Laura arched up against him, pressing herself to his chest--back bending like a taut bow string. She let out a short, restrained moan into his mouth.  
  
"Gods..." He groaned between sloppy kisses.  
  
"How much do you want me, Tom?" she panted. All his nerve endings clicked and sparked against the sensation of her breathy voice.  
  
He tugged his tongue down her throat, over her collarbone, where he sucked on her pale skin. He greedily clutched a thigh, hoisting it over his hip, and then laughed. As if there was ever any question of how much he wanted her. In an instant, he remembered all his torrid embraces with hookers down on _Cloud 9_ ,  New Caprica...those women who would do anything he wanted for a meager price. More often than not, he liked to imagine they were Laura Roslin--her striking eyes, her sharp tongue, flaming hair and snow-white grin. That spectacular body. Or those nights when he was jerking his dick, horny and unmotivated, like a teenage boy.  
  
Zarek licked one of her nipples, grazing his teeth over the hard nub of her right breast. She gasped, pushed her tit to his face and he held her to him, like she was all the nourishment he needed.  
  
"I want you, Tom," she moaned.  
  
"Yeah...." He breathed, immediately pulling back to his knees. Seated between her legs, Zarek fumbled with his belt buckle--his fingers slick and shaking. He pushed his trousers to his knees, flung his belt to the floor. It landed with a heavy, resounding thud. He released his straining cock, flushed and all-too-primed for use. Looking at her, Zarek licked his lips and stroked his prick once.  
  
"I'm gonna frak you, Laura. Hard," he panted, "You need it hard."  
  
He was. He was gonna stuff her with his dick, plow her into the thin mattress. She moved a leg up his side...along the back of his thigh and stretched against her binds, thrust up her chest. Barely smiled.  
  
His dick was begging, and his fingers flexed against her thighs as he pulled them tight against his body. Zarek grabbed his cock and pushed into her, groaning at the sensation. Hot, tight, slick. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he savored it. But, soon enough, the pressing assertion of his cock drowned out every other impulse but to thrust--to drive into her, deep and hard. A clumsy hand anchored her hips, another clutched a hot thigh--bringing it further and further up his body as he slammed into her. The cot creaked. And he groaned at the sound of skin slapping against skin.  
  
Zarek grunted and growled at each forceful, back-breaking push of his dick. He watched her, his eyes heavy and dark -- savoring the way she moved against him in counterpoint, circled her hips. She whimpered and sighed and pulled against her bonds, and her breasts bounced against each powerful thrust. The sight was exquisite--made him ache and bare his teeth, a familiar pressure building at the base of his spine.  
  
"Please," she mewled, pulling against the cuffs, "I want...I want to touch you."  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Zarek reached above her head and loosed her ties. Her hands flew free, raking into his hair and pulling him close as he moved. He kissed her.  
  
"Tell me you're a whore," he said.  
  
"You're a slut," he snarled, slamming into her again and again--his rhythm losing its cadence, his voice cracking. He was losing his resolve, any sense of purpose or power beyond his lust. With a decisive roll of her hips, she almost had him near tears.  
  
His hand moved to cradle her face, pushing aside strands of dark synthetic hair. "You got on your knees," he groaned, "Blew him dry."  
  
Laura's eyes flashed, a cunning smile flickering over her face before she sucked his thumb into her mouth. Zarek jerked against her, panting as he felt her wet tongue slide over his flesh--the pressure of her suction, the danger in her eyes. And then she lightly bit down. Zarek came hard, bucking against her--unleashing a dramatic moan of satisfaction--shooting his load into her body, a bodily surrender splashing against her.  
  
A surrender. A relinquishing.  
  
He had freed her from her bonds without a second thought.  
  
And he realized this as he lay collapsed on top of her, his cheek against the curve of her collarbone. She raked her hand roughly through his hair, tugged on a few strands and made him look up at her. Laura Roslin smiled and chuckled smugly, a little melodic titter that sounded like a death rattle. Her grin was so sweet that it was eerie, frightening. Omniscient and controlling. Finally, there was something in her eyes.  
  
"You came here to take something from me, Mr. Zarek," Laura murmured, "You'll leave with absolutely nothing."


End file.
